Book III, Epigram 2 (Ker)

For whom, my little book, would you become a present? Haste to get to yourself a protector, lest, hurried off to a sooty kitchen, you wrap tunny-fry in your sodden papyrus, or be a cornet for incense or pepper. Fly you to Faustinus' bosom? You are wise. Now may you strut abroad, anointed with cedar-oil, and, spruce with the twin deckings of your brow, wax insolent with painted bosses, and a delicate purple clothe you, and your title proudly blush with scarlet. With him for your protector do not fear even Probus.